


Coffee Grounds for Complaint

by Molespeople



Category: Spy (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Susan's an analyst and Ford's a caffeine peddler, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molespeople/pseuds/Molespeople
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CIA analyst Susan Cooper just has one goal. Stay caffeinated, keep her agent, Bradley Fine, alive. </p><p>She makes the mistake of walking into Ford's "coffee shop".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Little Shop of Horrors

Susan Cooper would never have walked into the murder shed of a coffee shop if she hadn't been desperate. Fine's mission in Sydney and the resulting time difference was quickly sapping her perkiness. The coffee maker in the basement was broken. Sharon, poor sweet Sharon, had sampled the bilge water that the coffee maker had produced last week and was still in the hospital. Susan had signed the card. 

Also, the line at Starbucks had been too long. Susan had been ready to decapitate the 30 plus people in front of her, who apparently had been competing in The North America Most Complex Coffee Order Competition. If Fine didn't need her to watch his back, all of those assholes would have been dead. Her potential decapitation spree was cut short when she remembered the coffee shop that Nancy mentioned that Leon in IT had been complaining about last week. At least the line would be short, right?

As she stares at the glass door with a piece of printer paper taped to it, she begins to have second thoughts. "Coffee Here" is scrawled on the sheet in Sharpie. She tries not to cringe when she steps into the building and holy crap, it looks murder-y. Just enough room to roll out a tarp and hack up a body, it's just a cement floor and a counter salvaged from a dumpster or the bottom of the ocean - it's that rusty.

A bald man frowns at her from behind the counter. Susan mistakenly makes eye contact and now she's committed herself to ordering something. She walks to the counter, completely self-conscious of how loud her footsteps echo in the cement cavern. Susan stops at the counter and tries to find the menu. 

"What do you want?" The man demands with an English accent.

Susan points to the blank wall timidly. "I'm just looking for the menu." 

"Well that's easy. Don't have one."

"Oh," Susan says slightly stumped on how to proceed. 

"Your choices are coffee." The man crosses his arms. "Or fucking coffee."

"Well, I'm guess I'm having the coffee then," Susan says tacking an awkward laugh onto her statement. "I mean fucking coffee would be a little awkward. What with it being hot. And a liquid. Not advisable ... I would think." 

"Name for the cup?"

Susan looks around at the empty shop. "Uh. Susan?" 

The man uncaps a Sharpie with his teeth and scrawls on a paper cup for an obscenely long time. 

"The name's Ford," he mumbles around the cap before puttering around the counter. 

The mechanical whirring of a coffee grinder drowns out anything that Susan begins to say in response. The coffee grounds then go in a paper filter suspended in a glass contraption. Ford pulls a kettle off its hot plate and pours a little hot water into a paper filter. Susan's only watching the process in such detail because there's literally nothing else to look at in the shop, but watching the rest of the water follow in a spiral pattern is kind of mesmerizing. As she waits for her coffee, Susan tries to fill the silence. 

Susan looks around the empty space. "So have you been open long?" 

"Yes."

And then they just stare at each other for three minutes. 

Once the coffee meets Ford's approval, it's poured into a paper cup. "Coffee for Susan." 

"Yep. That would still be me." 

"That will be $6."

Oh geez that's a little steep for eight ounces of coffee Susan thinks to herself as she roots around in her purse. She extracts her wallet and says, "Do you take debit cards?" 

"No." 

Susan tries not to freak out. Does she have any cash on her? She thankfully discovers two long-forgotten five-dollar bills tuckered away in a zippered pocket. Probably remnants from that one time that Nancy convinced her to go clubbing after she broke up with Jerry. Susan offers the money to Ford, who subsequently pockets it in his pair of too tight pants. 

"Um, can I get some change?"

"No. I don't have any."

Susan wrinkles her nose in confusion. "Uh." She feels like she should look around for the hidden camera.

Ford crosses his arms. "I tell you what. Next time? Next time, your coffee will be 66% off." 

Susan wants to burst out laughing. "How do you even know I'm coming here again?" 

"Oh, you'll be coming again." Susan raises an eyebrow. "Because my fucking coffee is fucking amazing," Ford proclaims.

"And here I was thinking I just ordered the coffee." 

Ford hands her said cup. Susan looks around the shop. "You wouldn't have sugar or milk hiding somewhere around here, would you?"

Ford just glares at her. 

"Yeah, I didn't think so. Just thought I would ask. Yep. Well thanks, I guess."

Susan leaves Highway Robbery Coffee Shop as fast as she can. It's only when she's in her car does she pay any attention to her cup. Instead of Susan, there's a 10-digit number and "Caution: You're hot." Did that asshole give her his number?

She's already convinced herself that the coffee can't possibly be good enough to warrant her to step foot in that shop again, 66% off or not. 

Susan nonchalantly takes a sip as she puts her car in reverse, but then stills. “God damn it.” She puts her car in park and takes another sip, hoping that the mouthful of strong, smooth and mellow caffeine was a fluke. She frowns down at her coffee cup when that isn’t the case. “Why?” 

Her tirade complaining about the injustices in the world lasts until the office. Susan swears that even though it’s the best coffee she’s ever had in her 40 years on this earth, she is never, ever going back to that stupid coffee shop. Does Ford even have a business license? Did she just order coffee from an off-the-grid caffeine peddler? 

Her resolve lasts for one day. It’s for Fine, okay?


	2. It's Business Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan's not going to take it.
> 
> Crappy customer service that is.

It's 4:59pm. Susan groans as she looks at her alarm clock. She pulls a pillow over her face and tries, once again, to go back to sleep. 14-hour time differences can go suck it. It's Day 3 of Fine's mission in Australia. Fine's schmoozing up to some socialites acting as the go-between in North Korea's most recent attempt to acquire nukes, weapons of mass destruction, really anything that makes them feel superior. It's textbook overcompensation. Luckily the targeted socialites, Cassandra and Cameron Lee, tend to sleep in, but that's really the only good thing about them. They're trying to get nukes to North Korea because Daddy limited their pocket money, they're rude, their accents are horrendous and they're excessively handsy with Fine. Not that she blames them. Fine is a particularly spectacular specimen of a man. Susan peeks at the alarm clock from under her pillow. 5:01. She was able to sleep for four hours, but now her bed feels like a prison. Total bed prison over here.

Susan sighs as she rolls over and smooshes her face into the mattress. If she gets up now, she's going to need to compensate with caffeine. Lots of caffeine. She'll have to be on her A-game for the next 17 plus hours. She's got some perfectly serviceable coffee from Trader Joe's in her kitchen and that's going to have to suffice. 

Except she thinks Ford's coffee has ruined her for all other coffees. Susan glowers at her ceiling fan. If she has to go back to that hellhole, she's not going to give Ford the satisfaction. 

Which is how she ends up striding into the nameless coffee shop to get another caffeine hit with a Ziploc bag full of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Susan is trying not to get sidetracked by how good the small space smells. 

Ford has this shit-eating grin when she starts walking towards him, her bag of change producing a metallic sounding slap with each step. 

And she cuts him off before he can say something saucy or flirty or equally inappropriate. "Let's get something straight, Ford. This here is going to be a business transaction." Susan plops the change on the counter. "I am going to give you $19.54 in change. When people wander into your Venus flytrap of a business and make the mistake of ordering coffee from you, at the very least, you are going to give them change." Susan pokes the bag of money towards Ford. "Now, I would like some coffee, please."

Ford raises an eyebrow. "And why would I allow you to swan in here and tell me how to run my fucking business?" 

Susan crosses her arms. "How long have you been open?" 

Ford crosses his arms. "Six months. What's it to you?" 

"How many customers have you had in six months?" 

"Plenty," Ford says, glowering at Susan. "Loads of customers. You've just missed the fucking bouncers that keep the thousands of customers under control." 

"Uh-huh. And out of these _thousands_ of so-called customers, how many of them have returned to this customer service hellhole?" 

Ford just glares at Susan. 

Susan pokes the bag of change. "And that's why I get to swan in here and tell you how to run your business." 

Ford starts the coffee preparation. "I take back everything that I wrote on your cup yesterday." 

Susan tilts her head in astonishment. "You're going to retract the statement regarding my attractiveness and your phone number? That's great, buddy, because I didn't ask for that. I have a mirror. If I wanted your phone number, I would have asked." 

Ford grumbles under his breath as he turns on the coffee grinder. 

"And as a general rule, you shouldn't flirt with your customers unless they flirt with you first," Susan yells over the noise. 

Things maybe get a little awkward as they wait for the coffee to brew. Susan rubs some sleep gunk out of one of her eyes when Ford has his back turned. And then her eyelashes do this weird flippy thing. By the time Ford turns around, Susan's eye is doing a stilted wink thing. Stupid mascara.

"Talk about fucking mixed messages." 

"What are you talking about?" 

Ford gestures to her eye. "What with the winking." 

Susan rubs at her eye. "I wasn't winking. I was rubbing sleep crust out of my eye."

"Sure you were." 

Susan throws her arms in the air. "I'm just here for the coffee! It's good coffee." 

"It's fucking amazing coffee." 

"Fine, it's fricking amazing coffee."

Ford pushes her cup across the counter. Susan snatches the coffee and takes a sip and damn it, it's just as good, if not better, than she remembered. She's kind of lost in a caffeine-induced euphoric haze when she hears an odd slapping sound. 

She looks up and there's a packet of sugar on the counter. Susan looks at the sugar and then back to Ford. She wonders if it's a trick. She picks up the packet and flaps it back and forth before tearing the corner and pouring it into her cup. Ford winces. "Do you have one of those swizzle sticks?" 

Ford hands her a spoon. 

"Or a spoon. That works too." 

Susan stirs the drink and she's excited to taste the amazing coffee with sugar. And then she's a little disappointed; the flavors of the coffee kind of get overwhelmed. Susan feels a little sad; it's not often that sugar betrays her like this.

"It's better without the sugar," she says begrudgingly.

Ford shrugs. "If you need fucking milk and sugar to make your coffee palatable, you're doing it wrong."

"But maybe if I add the milk, this cup would be better." 

"Don't push your luck," Ford says with a glare.

Susan takes another sip. "It's still good coffee. Just not as good. I'm going to need you to stay in business forever." 

Ford just huffs as he wipes down his rusty counter. 

She takes another sip. "If I wanted to theoretically tell people about my coffee dealer...what would I even call this place? There's no sign." 

"F Coffee." 

"Eff Coffee? Is that some sort of anti-coffee coffee shop sentiment?" Susan takes a sip. "Oh does the F stand for Ford?"

"Fucking." 

Susan rolls her eyes. "Of course the F would stand for fucking."

And that's how Susan starts helping Ford run his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend, Hien. SHE'S THE BEST. So please thank Hien in your hearts for being the best. 
> 
> AND THANKS FOR READING!


	3. Hits You Like An Extra Shot of Espresso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracking the upward trend of F Coffee Shop

Fine's mission is Australia may be over, but Susan keeps going to F Coffee. Inevitably the siren call of her java brings all the boys (and girls) to Ford's yard. 

It starts small. The seemingly miraculous presence of coffee at her station attracts attention.

"Now, really, Susan, where did you get this coffee? Because I distinctly remember leaving before you and then I was in the queue forever at Starbucks and here you are, rubbing your efficient caffeination in my face. It's not fair really. I thought we were friends."

"Uh, we are friends, Nancy. I can tell you where I got the coffee, but then I'd have to kill you." Susan snorts with laughter. 

"Spy humor! Because we work for the CIA, that's hilarious, Susan." 

Susan looks at Nancy with a somber expression on her face. "But seriously though, this guy, Ford, is a huge weirdo. It's that coffee shop that Leon was complaining about." 

Nancy's eyes get real wide. She leans in closer to Susan's desk. "How are you alive, Susan? He made Leon cry! He didn't even get any coffee." 

"Well, lucky for me. I've got these babies," Susan says, gesturing to her chest. "Ford is a bit of a horndog."

Nancy's nose sways as she catches scent of the coffee. "Well, it smells delicious. I think I might have to brave some unsolicited flirting to get me some coffee action." 

Susan raises her cup of coffee. "I'll drink to that."

Nancy might have been a little disappointed that Ford didn't flirt with her when she places an order for a "fucking coffee", but then Susan explained the stern talking-to she had given Ford the week before. Any other hurt feelings are banished by the sheer quality of the coffee. And thus, Nancy becomes a convert. 

Once Nancy is on board, the word about F Coffee begins to spread. First, the entire basement begins to go. Even Leon from IT eventually goes back to F Coffee under his own volition. But at first, Susan is stuck doing some serious handholding helping her coworkers navigate Ford's thorny nature. It feels oddly like when she was a teacher and she had to take the computer science students on field trips to the Chicago Google Office. Did anybody die? Does everybody still have their limbs and faculties? Great. Chaperoning her coworkers is slightly tedious and terrifying. But, hey, she doesn't have to pay for coffee anymore, so that's a bonus.

But Susan does have to hide in the women's bathroom after she sees Patrick strolling down the hallway with "Twat" written on his cup. She laughs so hard she starts crying. When she finally emerges from the bathroom, she only slightly resembles a raccoon that spent the night in a rainstorm.

That incident should have functioned as her warning klaxon that the Hipsters were coming.

If there's one thing Hipsters love more than Fair Trade coffee, meticulously roasted and then prepared by Ford. It's said Fair Trade coffee served in an insulting and demeaning atmosphere. Posting a picture of your profanity-laden F Coffee cup becomes a trend on social media in the local area. And then F Coffee becomes almost too popular. Ford doesn't dislike the money, but he loathes the popularity. "If one more person, Susan. One. If one more person asks me if we sell T-shirts, I am breaking this carafe and using the resulting shards to skin this wanker. Then with that skin, I will craft an F Coffee T-shirt using the burlap from the coffee bean bags as thread. There's your fucking T-shirt, you wanker." 

When Susan had heard that tirade she had paused in the consumption of her coffee. "That's actually scarily specific. I mean that. Would having actual T-shirts prevent you from skinning your customers?"

"Maybe," Ford had grumbled.

"I will take a maybe. I'll do some research, run the numbers. You think of some design ideas."

"I've already got the design, don't I? A shirt that says, Fuck Off." 

Susan had rolled her eyes. "You keep thinking about it. Try to keep it PG, Tiger."

What had been an efficient place to obtain a caffeine fix becomes a place with a stubborn line that never seems to dissipate. Susan had seen agents that were less resilient, but not Fine - Fine always gets his man...woman...person. And thus F Coffee seems to always have coffee junkies lingering about in their F Coffee T-shirts. The success would have backfired for Susan and her quest for caffeination if it weren't for that fact that she never has to wait in line. And when she says never, she means _never_.

Just last week she had walked into the midst of a bidding war. 

Ford had held out a coffee, oh so innocently, and said, "I've got a coffee for Twat." 

Because that's how Ford labels his coffee by default. And of course, the customers get confused when everybody is a Twat. Most wait in line patiently. Others get extremely militant about it. 

A man had pushed his way to the counter waving around a wad of bills. "I _have_ to get to work. I'll give you $20 for that coffee if you give it to me right _now_." 

"Excuse you, I've been waiting the longest, you asshole, " a woman had said jostling him. 

Susan had stayed away from the drama, standing by the door, tumbler in hand. She had made the mistake of getting in the fray once. Someone had elbowed her in the kidneys on purpose and Susan had accidentally broken their glasses in return. But Ford had seen her waiting by the door and had frowned down at the cup of coffee. 

"Oh, pardon me, folks. I must have misread my horrible handwriting. This coffee is for Susan. You twats will get your coffees soon."

Susan as always had felt a little flattered, but also flustered, to be receiving this VIP treatment. Ford always, in his strange way, makes her feel special.

And that's when she realized she might have a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be a little slow in coming BECAUSE I HAVE AN INTERVIEW NEXT FRIDAY and I need to prepare an instruction session. It's serious business, y'all.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and the kudos and the comments though!


	4. Coping Methods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan tries to avoid her problems with baking, because baking is the best. Ford is basically the worst business owner ever.

Susan's really busy, okay?

Fine is stateside. He's back for six hours before he starts complaining about his house cleaner, Olga, who is the sweetest septuagenarian ever. Susan ends up helping to clean Fine's floors because Olga's knees aren't what they used to be. But Olga expresses her thanks in pierogies, which Susan appreciates because Olga's pierogies are delicious. Susan even gets the recipe - so that's exciting. Susan's been dealing with all that as well as preparing dossiers and reports on various situations and persons of interest in the international intelligence community. And Crocker's breathing down her neck about her long breaks. Is Susan surprised that Crocker has even noticed her, period? A little. Is it making her nervous? Yes, very. Does it give her an excuse to go to F Coffee less? Definitely. So, yes, Susan has been very busy. She's not avoiding Ford and F Coffee at all. 

I mean she texts Ford, asks if he needs anything, because she's not a complete monster. That turns out to be a mistake. Ford's texts are so incomprehensible they could make a code breaker weep. They're a strange mixture of British slang and emojis and some like Tolkien levels of umlaut bull crap. She had to consult with Jonathan, who she left in tears, but Susan determines that Ford is getting along okay without her. And that's just dandy for Ford, but she gets relegated to trolling the aisles of Trader Joe's for coffee and another batch of baking supplies. She's stress-baked carrot cake, layered chocolate and peanut brownies and beignets so far this week. The basement has been saturated with her baked goods, but still she's perusing the bread aisle and deciding whether making a bread pudding would provide insight into the Ford/Fine dilemma. So Susan's kind of distracted when someone presses up against her back and whispers into her ear, "I've gotcha now, Susan." 

Susan reacts how any CIA agent would, but maybe there's a little more yelling. She instinctively grabs a bag of bread and whips it around catching her opponent upside the head. The plastic bag of bread is surprisingly resilient in that it doesn't explode propelling particles of gluten into each nook and cranny of the TJ's, but it doesn't really do much in the way in harming her opponent, which is good, because the “opponent” is Ford. Does she regret that it didn’t at least knock him unconscious so she could flee screaming into the night? Only for a minute. 

Susan winces. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Only my manly pride. I was nearly taken out by a sack of bread.” Ford looks at the deflated loaf in Susan’s hands. “And it’s fucking gluten-free. Now, I ask you, Susan. If the bread is gluten-free, is it even bread?”

Susan looks awkwardly at the deformed bread in her hand. She looks around for observers. “I guess I should put this puppy back.” 

Ford holds out his hand. 

Susan looks at him, a confused look on her face. “Use your words, Ford.”

“Give me the bread, Susan.”

Susan raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do with it?”

Ford huffs. “Buy it. Maybe eat it if I get desperate enough. I was thinking I could use it as a doorstop. Maybe gluten-free bread would ward off some of my customers if I just throw it around the shop.”  
Susan rolls her eyes. “What you’re going to just spread random slices of gluten-free bread about the shop? One, that’s how you get vermin.”

“Well, I’ve already got some of those.”

“Do I need to call the pest control company again?”

Ford crosses his arms. “I was speaking figuratively.” 

“Two, You really need to stop calling the customers vermin, Ford.”

Ford holds out his arms. “Just give me the bread. I figure it’s my head that caused the dent in the first place. I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.” 

Susan sighs and pushes the bread at Ford. “Fine. Take it. You and your stupid hard head.”

Ford peers into her cart. “That’s a lot of chocolate. Do you need to, uh, talk to anyone?”

Susan stares at Ford in horror. “Oh, God. Do you want me to talk to you about my feelings?”

“Fuck no. Jesus Christ, Susan, I was talking about, like, a professional or something. Why the fuck would you want to talk to me about your feelings?” 

“I don’t know! Why would you offer if you didn’t want to listen to me?”

“Uh, I don’t know, because you’re always harping on about how to talk to people in a friendly manner.”

“Uh-huh. That wasn’t some kind of secret clue that I was talking about me. Like I hope you didn’t eat a bunch of cereal just so you could get a decoder ring in the mail. And then you used that decoder ring to translate my oh so secret messages.” 

“So you did that too when you were little.” 

“Of course not. Who eats like 30 boxes of cereal for a decoder ring?” Susan totally did. She had used her allowance for four months to buy boxes of Chex cereal. Her mother wasn’t very supportive, but when was her mother ever supportive. I mean Susan had been so proud when she had saved up the 30 box tops from the cereal. When her decoder ring had arrived in the mail six to eight weeks later, she had been less so. She’d buried the twisted mound of plastic in the backyard. “Anyway, the chocolate is for baking. I’m just doing some baking. You know, baking some baked goods.”

Ford raises an eyebrow “Are you making pot brownies?”

“What? No!” Susan says with a yelp.

Ford raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you ever decide to make pot brownies, sign me up.”

“That is illegal,” Susan whispers hotly. “In this state. You do know who I work for, right?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“And so you can see how that would be a bad idea.”

“I just think maybe you should loosen up.”

“Don’t tell me to loosen up, buddy. I don’t need to loosen up. I’m just baking because baking is relaxing.”

Ford plops his gluten-free bread in his basket before raising his arms in the air. “If you say so.” 

Susan examines Ford. “You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for some baked goods, would you?” 

“To do what with?”

“I don’t know? Sell at the shop?” 

“Fuck no. Why would I want to do that?”

“To make money.”

“You are unbelievable. I’m already selling T-shirts and you want me to feed the Hipsters. You can’t feed the fucking wild animals, Susan, because then they’ll fucking come back, won’t they? And they’ll be dependent on you and they won’t be able to fend for their little animal selves.” 

“Nobody is going to subsist on coffee and baked goods, Ford, no matter how Hipster-y they are.” Susan smiles and bats her eyes at Ford. “I’ll have you know I make really, really good baked goods.” 

Ford stares at her chest. “Are you going to show me the wares?” 

Susan resists the urge to cover herself with another bag of bread. “Do you honestly think I walk around with brownies tucked in my brassiere?”

Ford shrugs. “I’ve heard of weirder things.”

Susan narrows her eyes. “For the record. I have no baked goods in my bra. Eyes up here, Ford.” A stern-faced woman gives her a weird look before grabbing some scones off the shelf. “Yes. It does sound weird, but you don't know me. That’s what you get for eavesdropping, lady.” The woman gives her a dirty look and hurries off.

“Do you want to show me your wares back at your place?” Ford says, running his tongue over his teeth. 

Susan winces. “How can you make everything sound perverted?” 

“It’s a fucking talent, isn’t it?” 

Susan rolls her eyes. She’s going to regret this. “Grab your gluten-free bread and let’s go.” 

Ford follows her home in his car. Susan makes sure to text Nancy informing her that if she’s found dead in three days, Ford is most likely the culprit. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Ford. She’s done a background check, but the dude is weird and now he knows where she lives and her phone number. 

He helps carries some of her bags to the apartment though, which is nice. The bags at Trader Joe’s are sometimes flimsy, especially when you pick them up in the wrong way. There’s nearly a chocolate and egg disaster. 

Unfortunately, now that Ford’s on her home turf, he has a lot of ammo. He looks around at her Le Creuset collection, proudly displayed. He’s not even in there five seconds when he says, “What did you do? Wank to a Williams-Sonoma catalogue?” 

“Get out of my apartment. I’ve changed my mind,” Susan splutters. 

Ford shrugs. “Just tell me where you want this bag.” 

Susan looks around her apartment. “Uh, I guess in the kitchen.” She thinks of all the Tupperware containers in her kitchen a moment too late.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Susan. Are you one of those weird fuckers that live in a tree?”

“What? A Keebler elf?” Susan yanks the bags away from Ford. “You can leave anytime, mister.” 

Ford raises his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Would it help if I took some of your baked goods? Am I enabling you, Susan? Are you like one of those hoarders on TV? 

Susan looks around her small but neat apartment. “Do I look like a hoarder?”

“You’ve got a kitchen full of baked goods and more colorful pots than anybody would ever need in their entire life. Why would you need a pot that size?” He says as he points to her little Mini Round Cocotte.

“For single serving side dishes, obviously.”

“Uh-huh. You’re really not helping your case here.” 

He examines one Tupperware container. “So what are these then?” 

Susan squints at the container. “Uh, those are the double-layered brownies. One layer is peanut butter, the other your typical chocolate.” 

Ford shakes another container. “And these?”

“Beignets.” 

“Do you want one? They’re really good.” Susan says as she opens the container to sample the product. 

Ford shrugs. “I’ll pass.” 

“Are you sure? Just one bite?”

“I’m not really into sweets.”

“What do you mean? Who’s not into sweets?”

“Diabetics, I would fucking think. I just don’t crave fucking sweets. You know, I’d rather just have a slab of hulking meat. You know when I was down in Brazil sourcing some beans for the shop, they served this delicious fucking dish called _Feijoada_ , which you know is just beans and all the pork products you want. And don’t even get me started on the barbecue meats. That’s what I crave. Meat. Like a man.” 

“Uh-huh. I think that’s bull crap. Personally, I just think that’s bull crap.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the amount of fucking baked goods.” Ford looks around perplexed. “What do you think would sell best in the shop?”

“Take the brownies and the cookies. Wait a second. I’ve got some more in the fridge.” 

“You have a real problem, Susan,” he says trying to juggle four Tupperware containers. “How much do I charge? 50 cents?”

Susan narrows her eyes. “Start off at a dollar.” 

“And do you want your little plastic contraptions back? Do you collect those too?”

“The Tupperware? Yes. I want it back. I do not collect them intentionally though.” 

Ford shrugs. “If you say so.” 

Susan rubs her forehead. “Please just take them and leave. I’m very tired right now.”

Ford starts stacking up all the containers. “I don’t think I can take them all by my fucking self.”

“But you’re so strong and fueled by protein.” Susan mocks as she piles up some containers. 

Once Ford leaves, Susan retreats to her kitchen and starts putting her groceries away. “I have terrible taste in men,” she mutters as she puts together a chocolate custard for the bread pudding. 

\--------------------------

She’s kind of nervous to check in on Ford the next day. Do people like her baked goods? Was this all just a giant mistake? She pops in nonchalantly during her lunch break just to make sure that he’s adhering to some kind of health code. 

Ford glares at her once she enters the shop. She walks slowly to the counter. “I am never, ever helping you out again, Susan,” he says as he pours her a coffee.

“What happened?” 

Ford gestures to empty Tupperware containers. “They keep asking me if there’s going to be more.” 

Susan shrugs. “There could be more? I mean I do a lot of baking.”

Ford begins to angrily assemble her coffee. “You’d give into their fucking demands? Why do I have to make them happy?” 

“Because you’re running a business.” 

Ford hands Susan her coffee. “That’s a horrible reason.” 

A petite girl walks up to the counter. She flips her hair. “Do you have any more of those, um, like, brownies?” 

“Yes,” Ford growls. 

“Are they gluten-free? Kameron said you said they were gluten-free,” she says with another hair flip.

Ford nods. “Do you have that fucking Celiac disease or what?” 

“OMG, no, no. Like, I totally just, like, am on that Paleo diet.”

Susan tilts her coffee in girl’s direction. “I’m not really sure that’s how it works with all the sugar in the brownies, but nice try.” 

The girl looks at Susan and scrunches up her face. “Like, you would know. So are those brownies gluten-free?” 

Ford looks at the girl. “Definitely.” 

Susan thinks about telling the girl that the brownies are definitely not gluten-free, but then decides to take another sip of her coffee. Once the girl leaves with her brownie, Susan turns to Ford. “You’re not doing that with everyone I hope.” 

Ford shrugs. “Only if they’re an asshole about it and they’re not going to fucking die.” 

“That’s so kind of you, but you really need to stop.” 

Ford rolls his eyes. “I do you a favor, and this is how you fucking repay me.” 

Susan takes a sip of her coffee. “I’m just trying to keep you in business.” 

Ford shrugs. “Fair enough.” 

The girl comes back with her brownie in one hand and her phone in the other hand. She doesn’t look up. “What’s the wireless,” she takes a bite of her brownie, “password again?” 

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. It’s ‘Fuck Off’.” 

The girl rolls her eyes. “I already tried that,” she huffs. 

Ford wipes at the counter. “It’s upper and lower case.”

The girl takes another bite of her brownie and then starts to retreat. “I’ll try that.” 

Susan wants to say, “Oh, sweetie. There’s no Wi-Fi.” Ford doesn’t even have chairs. What she says once the girl is out of earshot is: “Jesus Christ, Ford, you really need to get Wi-Fi.” 

“We do not negotiate with terrorists.” 

“Good to know, and you really need to …”

“Stop referring to the customers as terrorists, I fucking get it, Susan.”

Susan takes another sip of coffee. “I think you need to hire somebody to take care of the people end of the business.”

Ford frowns. “Yeah.” He looks at her expectantly. 

Susan shakes her head. “No. Not me. I have a job. You couldn’t pay me enough in coffee.”

Ford rolls his eyes. “Well, now I guess I need to bring the business partner in.” 

“You have a business partner?” 

“How did you think I was able to run this place for months with no revenue?”

“I have to admit. It has haunted me at night.” 

“Yeah. He’s got the fucking money, but he’s also a fucking prick. You’re going to hate him, but he’s all right.” 

And that’s how Aldo starts working in the day-to-day operations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I think it's worth saying that: 
> 
> 1\. I'm gluten-free so that's all in fun. 
> 
> 2\. I've also eaten Paleo semi-regularly.
> 
> 3\. If you want any of those recipes mentioned in this chapter (gluten-free) they can be found in Flavor Flours, which is just a great cookbook. 
> 
> 4\. Thank you for reading and commenting and all the luck. Also thanks for being patient! This past week was a real mess. I had an interview, but also my dad had to be hospitalized (he's better now), but I also got a job offer today! A JOB OFFER! SO, yes! Thank you for the luck!!! 
> 
> Above all, thank you for reading. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!


	5. Flaming Post-Apocalyptic Pit of Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan explains the trials of working with Aldo and Ford, especially when it comes to Fine.

Aldo’s transition from being the money to participating to the front of the house of F Coffee is not without its growing pains. Susan will be a woman and admit that. If she thought Ford’s behavior was inappropriate for the customers, Aldo’s behavior is equally inappropriate, if not more so, but, of course, in a completely different way. Ford was right. At first Susan intensely dislikes Aldo. She’s annoyed that he’s always propositioning her for sex or trying to cop a feel. However, it’s a source of endless amusement that Aldo does the same thing to Ford. She personally finds that firm boundaries with Aldo are of the utmost importance. But at times, Susan feels like F Coffee has two fires constantly blazing and she has to prioritize which one to use the fire extinguisher on. If Ford hates everybody, Aldo loves everybody. Ford is Grumpy Cat. Aldo is a weird dog that’s really excited and lovable, but also wants to hump everything. It’s a really odd combination, but eventually they hit a groove. It’s a weird groove like something you would see in a college art exhibition, but the critics approve of it.

The critics being the customers. 

If the Hipsters enjoy that Ford insults them, they soon discover that Aldo will do anything if it’s a dare. _Anything_. Aldo also loves to take selfies with the customers. Said selfies also usually occur post-dare, so Aldo's willingness to put his hair in pigtails, lick anything, including toes and dogs, and turn his Armani shirt into a crop top is documented for the whole world to see.

Susan ends up spending more time with Ford for some weird reason. It's like Aldo functions as some highly sexual, simultaneously cock-blocking bridge between the two of them. Eventually she joins the boys as they watch _Downton Abbey_. Aldo and Ford are really into it; Susan is a casual fan at best. Ford said he watches so he can talk with his mum about it, and Aldo because he seems to thrive on drama, sex and sugar (not the euphemistic kind). They kind of have a tea party on _Downton Abbey_ night, so it hits all of Aldo's buttons. In return, Aldo joins her and Nancy to watch _The Great British Bake-Off_. Aldo is pro-baking. This definitely wins brownie points with Susan. Ha. Brownies. Get it? Aldo also refers to Susan as his moneymaking, cookie-baking goddess. It’s not like she’s going to start putting it on her business card, but it does have a certain ring to it. If Susan wants to bring baked goods into F Coffee, she has to wait until Aldo is in. Her conversations with Ford usually go like this: 

“Ford, I brought some biscotti.”

“No.”

“No, I didn’t bring biscotti?”

“No, I’m no longer fucking supporting your stress baking.”

“So let me get this straight, you’re turning down money.”

“I guess I am.”

At this point, Susan usually yells for Aldo. Something along the lines of “Aldo! Ford’s turning down money!”

But just because F Coffee doesn't resemble a flaming post-apocalyptic pit most of the time doesn't mean that Aldo's presence unanimously improves things. Susan has literally plotted; she has a spreadsheet and everything, how long Aldo can remain at F Coffee before things reach critical mass. He's been averaging about two hours for the past week. The outliers are the four hours Aldo was in the shop before he tried to juggle paper napkins he had set on fire, and the four minutes that he had been in the shop before Fine had walked in. 

Aldo hates Fine. 

It might have something to do with the fact that Fine calls him Aldi. Like the supermarket. 

Susan thinks Aldo’s hatred is a little misplaced. Fine is a very busy man. He’s involved in life and death situations on a regular basis. How is he supposed to remember the names of the people who just serve him coffee… every day that he’s in town? But Fine’s got to prioritize, and he’s got Susan to remind him of Aldo’s name. 

While Aldo will simply remove himself from a Fine situation, Ford will just treat Fine with contempt. It could be mistaken for the contempt he shows every other customer, but it’s really not. Sometimes Susan has dreams that Fine and Ford fight over her and for some reason they’re just fighting in a giant vat of mayonnaise. Susan doesn’t know what’s going on with her subconscious. 

Fine is a big, brave spy, but he doesn’t like to go to F Coffee unattended. So when Fine wants some coffee, Susan wants some coffee. It’s really, really awkward. 

When Aldo sees her, he throws his arms in the air. “Oh, it’s my money-making, cookie-baking goddess! Have you brought Aldo any sweet things today, Susan?” When Aldo sees Fine, he flees into the back room. “Aldo forgot. He must leave now. Drown himself in the, how you say, toilet.” 

“Oh, okay. See you later, Aldo. I’ll bring you a cannoli later.” Susan titters nervously. “Maybe two.” 

Susan looks to Fine. “He’s just having a bad day. I mean your impeccable facial symmetry isn’t helping much.” 

Ford growls from the counter. “Are you going to order, or are you going to natter in the corner the whole fucking day?”  
Fine suavely pushes his hair back. “I will have my usual, Mr. Ford.” 

Ford tilts his head. “I must have fucking forgot what your order is, Mister...” 

Fine’s perfect smile wavers. “A coffee for Bradley Fine.” 

Ford nods in an exaggerated manner. “Oh, yes. That’s right. Silly fucking me. A coffee for Beverly. Coming right up, Beverly.” 

The first time Susan had tried to correct Ford, he’d simply said, “My hearing is perfect, thank you, Susan. I can hear a Jeep carrying coffee co-op farmers from 50 miles away.”

So Ford calls Fine, Beverly. It’s not really a good thing, but it could be worse. But man, it’s kind of brutal when Ford starts calling out, “Coffee for Beverly. Beverly? Beverly, I’ve got your fucking coffee for you.” He won’t stop until Fine claims his coffee. One time, Susan tried to save Fine from embarrassment and grab his coffee for him. It didn’t work. Ford is a real ass sometimes. 

The resentment might have emerged when she was attending a dinner with Aldo and Ford. It was a fancy black tie gala celebrating local businesses. F Coffee even got an award! But it was a black tie event, so of course Fine was there. Susan shouldn’t have been surprised. Susan had been having a good time, forgetting about Fine and their imaginary children, when, of course, Fine had walked up to their table. 

“Susan? My god. It is you. I almost didn't recognize you. You're wearing a dress! What on earth are you doing here?” 

The smile that Susan had had when she had seen Fine had faded. “I work with Aldo and Ford with their business, F Coffee. We just won an award."

“Oh, that’s right. I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time there. Well, I believe congratulations are in order.” He had looked at Aldo and Fine and said, “Wow, I mean, you must be so proud. I know it’s sometimes hard for people like you to achieve the recognition you deserve.” 

“My English is not so good maybe, Mr. Fine, but I am not sure what you mean by this people like you?” 

Fine had paused, surprised. “Are you not out? I apologize. I thought you were. You introduce Ford as your partner, Aldi.” 

Ford’s expression had darkened. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being fucking gay, because there’s not. You’re barking up the bloody wrong tree.”

Aldo had shrugged. “Yes, I am a little bit, how you say, gay. But Ford? Ford is not my partner, I think in this sense.” 

“We’re bloody business partners.”

Fine had looked between them and Susan, a confused look on his face. “But then why do you spend so much time with Susan then if you’re not gay?”

Susan had felt her stomach harden into a rock. That had been a low blow to her self-esteem. Before Fine had the opportunity to dig himself out or further into the conversational pit, he had been called away by his date. His date had been a typical Fine date, some beautiful doctor/swimsuit model/humanitarian like a human Swiss Army knife. She had tittered when Fine had entwined his arm with hers. Because that’s apparently the caliber of women that men like Fine surround themselves with. 

Susan had forgiven Fine (because she’s a masochist) after he had apologized and taken her to a nice restaurant for a working lunch, but Aldo and Ford had not. 

Susan had attempted to negotiate a peace treaty of sorts one night while she was baking Linzer cookies. Aldo was attempting to help, but was just helping himself to cookies when he thought she wasn’t looking. Ford was pretending to drink and watch something on the television, but was actually helping. Nancy was there for moral support, and for the fact that Susan has HBO.

“I just think things would be more pleasant if you at least made an effort to get along with Fine. I have to work with him.”

Ford had tilted his bottle of beer at her. “I don’t know the guy. We haven’t exactly had a fucking heart-to-heart, but I can tell he’s a real wanker.”

"He is not!"

Nancy had turned away from the screen. “You know, Susan, I actually think Ford’s right in this scenario. You go the extra mile for Fine all the time, and he really is quite a wanker. I don’t get dry-cleaning for anyone in the office, you know. I mean, I would get your dry-cleaning if you asked nicely, Susan. But Fine doesn’t even ask nicely!” 

Susan had enthusiastically punched the next few rounds of the dough before answering. “Aww, thanks, Nancy. You’re not helping.” 

Aldo had helped himself to a spoonful of preserves. “I think this Fine does not fully appreciate our moneymaking, cookie-baking goddess. If I was Mr. Fine, I would lie prostrate at your feet, Susan, so I could lick your sweet little toes.” 

That visualization had made Susan want to vomit in her mouth a little bit. “Uh, thanks, Aldo. I guess.” 

“Besides all the weird fucking toe-licking, Aldo’s right, Susan. Beverly doesn’t appreciate you.” 

Susan had tried not to hear the, “Like I do,” at the end of Ford’s sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really, really not happy with this chapter. But I thought an update would be better than no update. I might re-work it later. :/ 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.


	6. Boiling Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan tries to mind her own business, but some people make that really hard.

F Coffee has seen some changes since Aldo joined the team. Susan and Aldo had gone to the IKEA in Woodbridge to secure some furniture for the shop. But first they had stopped by the cafe because meatballs. 

“I am making these Swedish meatballs Italian,” Aldo had said, patting his stomach appreciatively. 

“Well, I’m making these Swedish meatballs American,” Susan had countered. She had paused. “No, Swedish meatballs sound better. Otherwise, you’ve got meatloaf maybe.”

Aldo had tilted his head in confusion. “Meatloaf?”

“Yeah, you know, it’s a meat in the shape of like a loaf of bread.”

“But, it is not bread.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why would you do this to the meat?”

“You got me, buddy.”

They pick out some chairs and stools. Susan makes sure that the chairs are not too comfortable because if a customer lingers for too long, the risk of bodily injury increases. It’s definitely not because she doesn’t want to go against Ford’s minimalist, customer hating wishes. Aldo searches the basement art section for pictures of nudes. When he hadn't found what he was looking for, “Something like the Sistine Chapel,” he had sulked. Susan had placated him with a world map picture. “Maybe we can make it interactive,” she had suggested. “Pin where we’ve been in the world?”

Ford had acquiesced to the purchases with the stipulation that all the chairs stay in a corner. 

“If a bloody customer wants a fucking chair, they can go up and fucking get one, can’t they? If they can’t do that, they don’t really want one.”  
———————

So Susan finds herself sitting in one of those chairs one day after work. She’s behind the counter putting her computer science degree to work, creating an app for F Coffee. Aldo is off making a coffee delivery to Sibley Memorial, a task that he tends to enjoy because Aldo has a weakness for people in scrubs. It’s just her and Ford in the shop, and it’s one of those quiet, amiable silences. And then Karen Walker walks in, and Susan just feels like her breathing sounds really loud in the space, like she’s a pug struggling to breathe, like some really awkward wheezing. It’s a nice complement to the drumming of her heart. 

Susan’s not really sure why she’s freaking out. 

“Hi there. I’ve heard so much about this place,” Karen says, with a wink. 

And now Susan knows why she’s freaking out. Is she going to have to witness Ford and Karen Walker _flirting_? Maybe Karen hasn’t seen her yet. Maybe she can just slide off the chair, lie on the floor, and hope to be carried off by a giant eagle and thrown into a volcano. 

“Oh, Susan! Hi!” 

Yeah, Susan thought that was a long shot. 

“Hi, Karen. How was Spain?”

“Oh, it was absolutely fantastic. But, by the end, I will tell you, I was really sick of wearing a bikini.” Karen tilts her upper body to better display her curves. 

Susan wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, that sounds like a real trial.” Susan hopes she got a yeast infection from her stupid bikini. 

Karen just laughs. “But how have you been, Susan?” 

“Just working,” Susan says with a shrug. “Same old, same old, I guess."

“That’s such a Susan thing to say, Susan.” 

Karen flips her hair. “I’ve heard so much about this coffee. I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t,” Karen eyes Ford with a saucy look, “think to share, Susan. To think about all the fun times that I’ve been missing out on.” 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that Spain is particularly boring and coffee-less.”

Ford wipes at the counter. “Can I take your order or what?”

“Are you good at taking orders, Mister …”

“Ford, Rick Ford. And the menu is pretty fucking simple, I can manage to take an order.” 

“Well, I think I’d like a coffee to start with. But maybe later you can take me out? We can talk about where you source your beans. I’m a bit of a coffee connoisseur, you see.” 

And Susan is pretty sure that’s her cue to leave. Her stool makes a loud noise as she pushes away from the counter and hurries through the back room into the alley out back. Susan doesn’t really need to witness what’s going to happen now. So she’s surprised when she sees Ford has followed her. 

“What are you doing back here? You need to take Karen’s ord- ”

The rest of her defensive rant is cut off when Ford presses his lips against hers. Susan pushes him away, “What are you doing?” 

“I just want you to know I don’t fucking care if that woman is flirting with me or not, Susan.” 

“Okay? Good for you! What's that got to do with me?"

Ford shakes his head and crosses his arms angrily. Ford looks at her and uncrosses his arms. It looks like he wants to say something; he starts rubbing his bald head like he’s trying to think of the words. Then he starts grunting and performing strange contortions like he has bad gas. “Because I — Oh fuck it.” Ford approaches Susan again, crowding her against the dumpster, which is just really gross, but then he kisses her again, which is very much not gross. “I fucking love you, all right? It’s not very fucking romantic,” he says, gesturing to the dumpster, “But it’s true.”

Before Susan can say anything, Aldo pulls up in his impractical convertible honking the horn and cheering, “I am so happy for my little lovebird friends. But if you are out here, who is running the shop?” 

Susan takes that as her opportunity to run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but stranger12 suggested that Karen might try to flirt with Ford. Ford didn't exactly laugh in Karen's face, stranger12, but I hope it pleases anyway. 
> 
> I've already started the next chapter, so HOPEFULLY the next update will be longer and not too much of a wait. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> And HIEN IS STILL THE BEST!!!!! THANK YOU, HIEN!


	7. In Which Susan Has Several Strategies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan is still reeling from the dumpster-adjacent kiss. She gets a wake-up call.

Susan might be panicking about the potentially-relationship-changing-dumpster-adjacent moment, but she's still got some of her wits about her. She circles around to the front of the store. Karen is still there looking slightly puzzled. Susan doesn't have time for Karen. She bustles into the shop beelining for her abandoned laptop. "Hi Karen," she says as she collects her laptop and swings her handbag onto her shoulder. "Bye, Karen." 

"Uh, bye, Susan?"

Susan leaves the shop in her dust. She pulls her cell phone out of her purse. 

_Hello?_

"Nancy, I need you to come to my place. It's an emergency." 

_Do I need to bring guns or ice cream?_

"Ice cream and Colin Firth, please."

\-----------

A pajama-clad Susan returns from the kitchen with two bowls of ice cream and bread pudding.

Nancy uses her spoon to point to the television. "Not that I'm not appreciating the impromptu Colin Firth marathon, Susan, but what was the impetus to this?"

"Ford kissed me," Susan grumbles into her bowl.

"Oh, yay!"

"No, no yay. I love Fine!"

Nancy chews thoughtfully before saying, "I don't even know if you really like Fine, Susan."

"What are you talking about?"

Nancy waves her spoon towards Colin Firth on the screen. "Besides his impeccable physique what makes Fine so fine?"

"Well, he's so cool and smooth, and...and thoughtful! Remember that time if he asked me if I wanted the rest of his potato chips."

"Mm, yes. He's a regular Mother Teresa, isn't he?" Susan watches Elizabeth Bennet stride purposefully across the fields. "But he's cool and smooth on missions, Susan."

Susan turns away from the TV. "Yes, because he's an agent."

"Correct me if I'm wrong here, but you're an agent too, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I could never, ever be like Fine, Nancy."

"But aren't you responsible for Fine making things look effortless, Susan?"

Susan knows that she helps Fine out, but they're a team. "I guess so."

"The way I look at it, the only things you can't do that Fine can is wee standing up and father a child. Though now that I think about it there was a girl in primary school who could wee standing up. For the record, can you wee standing up?"

"I'm not going to even dignify that with a response, Nance." 

"So, that's a no. What's so wrong with Ford? 

" He's crude, stubborn. He's a know-it-all. His forearms are embarrassingly wiry and his stupid butt is distracting."

"So, you don't have any feelings for him?" 

"I mean, where does he get off telling me he loves me?" 

Nancy chokes on her bread pudding. "He told you he loved you! You better hitch that your apple wagon to that star, sister."

Susan stands up suddenly. "Can I get you anything to drink, Nancy? I mean, I think the situation in Russia deserves a drink or two. Am I right or am I right?"

"I'm not saying you should marry the man, but at least be open to your feelings, Susan. Fine isn't the be-all and end-all."

"If we're going to talk about the Russian political situation, we should have White Russians I think."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks. If you want to drink White Russians we can do that, but we can also stop talking about Ford, eat bread pudding and watch Firth get his shirt wet."

Susan sighs and sits down on the couch. "Let's just go with that. I don't even think I have coffee liqueur." 

\----------

Susan lays low for the next week. She goes to work. She works on the F Coffee app from home. Once she's finished, people will be able to order their coffees in advance, schedule a pick-up window, essentially limiting their Ford exposure time. That sounds like a really good thing right now - limited Ford exposure. She's not avoiding Ford, she's strategically prioritizing her activities in a way that limits her Ford exposure. If she happened to run across Ford, it would be a failure of her strategy, but she would accept it. She's had moderate success in limiting her Ford exposure that week. She had seen him twice.  
Once when she was dropping off her cheesecake brownies. The second when she had watched him dump the cheesecake brownies in the trash. Ford had looked her straight in the eye, his forehead furrowed like a Shar Pei. It hadn't stopped the Hipsters or Aldo through pawing through the trashcan. They were all individually Saran-wrapped (extremely thoroughly) so it's not as gross as it sounds. But the whole situation had been a little awkward. That had been Monday. 

Now, it's Friday. Susan braves a trip to F Coffee to drop off a load of baked goods (chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, cheesecake bites, another batch of cheesecake brownies, ginger cookies). She discovers some strange Saran-wrapped oversized, rock hard scones residing like inanimate cuckoo birds in her baked goods basket. Susan shoves the baked good intruders under the counter and proceeds to restore her baked goods to their rightful place. 

She looks Aldo in the eye. "You do everything in your power to prevent these from going in the trash, mister."

"Who am I to deny a pretty lady?" 

Susan leaves Aldo and Ford to squabble over the fate of her baked goods, at least Aldo has a height advantage. Ford plays dirty. You know, what with cornering people in alleys and kissing them.

Susan tries to focus on work and her report on how to counteract the destabilization of the Middle East. Each time a coworker comes by her desk to compliment her on the baked goods she couldn't bring into F Coffee, Susan's thoughts turn to Ford. Susan believes that her work hasn't suffered. Susan does good work, but Crocker doesn't seem to think so. She even seems pissed as she begrudgingly consumes one of Susan's peanut butter fudge balls. How is that even humanly possible?

"Cooper, deliver that report personally to me next week. We need to have a talk." 

"Well, I hope it's a good talk," Susan says, tittering nervously. Crocker just raises an eyebrow. "A bad talk?"

Crocker's face is like stone. "Next week. My office. Bring your report ."

And this doesn't exactly fill Susan with confidence. Should she start looking for jobs? What would she do if she was no longer with the CIA? Thoughts of working at F Coffee rise unbidden. Susan shakes her head and focuses on her computer screen and its blinking cursor.

Nancy pulls her out of her chair at the end of the day. "No, Susan, no. How many appendixes does this report have? No, I'm sorry. You need to go talk to Ford or go home. This report is done." 

Susan struggles to get back to my desk. "I think Crocker is going to fire me."

Nancy scoffs. "I think not." She wrestles with Susan. "If that, ugh, happens, I'll leave too. Stop fighting me." 

"I feel like I'm being attacked by sentient pool noodle," Susan says as she struggles with Nancy to get back to her desk. "Stop pulling on me, I just need my purse." When Nancy relents, Susan grabs her things and her Tupperware from the break room. "You know I might just go home. Ford might jump me. I just can't tell if it will be in the romantic sense or not."

Nancy pulls her out of the office. "Only one way to find out. Get thee to the coffee shop."

\--------

When Susan walks into F Coffee and sees that the baked goods basket is empty, it feels a little like defeat. But then Aldo gives her a thumbs-up. "We sold everything, my cookie-baking, moneymaking goddess." Aldo also has a black eye, but Susan expected as much. 

Ford soon follows Aldo, but he's unblemished. "You're a scrappy one," Susan blurts. "Look what you did to Aldo. Aldo, you need to put some ice on that." 

Aldo shakes his head . "Do not worry, your sweet baby head," he says, patting her on the head. "I have a date with a nurse tonight." 

"I do not have a baby head, Aldo!"

Ford stares at Susan. "I have to go roast some fucking coffee." 

"Oh, okay." Susan stands awkwardly in the shop. Should she just go? But when she tries to follow Aldo out, they enter a mimed conversation of sorts. 

Aldo waves his hands - _No, stay here._

Susan flaps her hands - _No, I think I'll just go._

Aldo points at her and starts moving his hands like Pac-Man - _No, you stay here and talk to him._

Susan grimaces - _But, I don't want to._

Aldo points to his black eye - _Talk to the black eye because the ears are not listening._

Susan waves sadly - _Ugh, okay. Bye._

Aldo kisses her cheek good-bye - _It will be fine._

Susan sighs as she retreats to the counter. She pulls her favorite stool over from the wall and takes out her laptop. She's tapping distractedly at her keyboard waiting for Ford to emerge (Ford gets touchy when he's roasting beans) when the door to the shop opens. Susan doesn't look up right away. But when she does, her stomach drops to her toes. 

A gun is pointing in her direction. "Is anybody else here?" 

Susan shakes her head. "No. We're closing soon." Susan grabs her cell phone and hides it behind her back. She dials 9-1-1. 

The gunman holds a bag out. "Put the drugs and money in the bag," he says, gesturing to the bag with the gun. Time seems to move so slowly. How long does she need to wait until the police get here?

Susan looks around puzzled. She would know if the boys were selling drugs, right? Oh, god. Is that what Crocker wanted to talk to her about? Her apparent affiliation with a drug front? "I really don't know what you're talking about. What drugs?" Susan tries to speak loudly enough that Ford might be able to hear, but not loud enough to arouse the gunman's suspicions. 

The gunman vibrates with anger. "Don't lie to me," he hisses between clenched teeth. "People have been asking all week. 'Do you have any of the good stuff?' And 'I'll take a coffee and the good stuff, if you have it.' I know for a fact you got the "good stuff" in today. And now, I want you to put it and the money in the bag." 

Susan wants to vomit. "I'm not really in a position to correct you," she says gesturing to the gun. "Since you're armed and potentially dangerous, but, I'm pretty sure the "good stuff" refers to my baked goods. You know cookies, brownies. F Coffee is a coffee shop, not a drug front." 

"Do you think I'm a moron? What kind of idiot refers to cookies as the "good stuff"? Do they contain marijuana or something, huh?" 

"Uh. No." 

"Yeah, nice try. Now, I'm going to ask you again. Put the drugs and money in the bag, lady. Or I shoot."

Susan thinks how she can stall for time. And, of course, that's when Ford wanders in from the back. "Susan, we need to -- What the fuck is going on here?" 

If time was moving like molasses before, now it speeds up. Time is officially a bitch. Twitchy the gunman points the gun at Ford and Susan just reacts. She grabs the first thing she can from behind the counter and throws it at Twitchy. 

And then there's a gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a cliffy, I guess. 
> 
> Hien is still the best! 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	8. She's Got Some Scones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a gunshot! What happens now?

Scones make for surprisingly effective weapons, especially the gut bombs that Ford bought as a strange consolation prize for the customers deprived of Susan's goodies.

It takes three scones and Susan's impeccable aim and reflexes to incapacitate Twitchy the Gunman. It happens so quickly. There's a gunshot. Twitchy is on the floor. Susan scrambles to get the gun. "Oh, god. Ford, are you okay? Ford!" 

Ford stares numbly at the bullet hole in the wall next to him. "I think I fucking shit my pants." He looks at the bullet hole again and measures the distance between it and his body with his fingers. "Fuck me." 

Susan points at Ford. "Watch Twitchy, Ford!" 

"Who the fuck is Twitchy?" 

Susan flaps her hand towards the gunman. "Oh, I'm sorry, we're not on a first name basis. Just watch him for Pete's sake." Susan doesn't wait for an answer. She hurries back around the counter and picks up her cell phone and starts talking to the 9-1-1 dispatcher. 

_Ma'am, I heard a gunshot is everyone okay?_

"Yes, I believe so. I mean I threw something at the guy with the gun and knocked him out."

_What did you throw at him, ma'am?_

"What did I throw at him?" Susan asks herself. She leans over the counter and squints at the three objects littering the floor. "Scones. I threw scones at the guy." Susan doesn’t believe her life sometimes.

_Oh._

"Believe me, I didn't bake them."  
\------------

The media and Internet has a field day with the 911 call: 

"Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman with a Scone." 

"Stoned with Scones."

"Believe me, I didn't bake them," says defender of coffee shop.

"Gun's Out, Scones Out."

And then after the police review the security footage, it gets released. Personally, Susan suspects that Aldo had a hand in it. But next thing she knows there's GIFs of her launching scones at the guy and leaping over the coffee counter. The Internet goes crazier. 

"OMG I WANT TO BE HER WHEN I GROW UP TOTAL BAMF. SHE JUMPED THAT COUNTER LIKE A JAGUAR. ROWR."

"I HAVE WATCHED THIS VIDEO A BAJILLION TIMES THIS IS MAGIC."

"SCONES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"WELL I FOUND WHO I AM GOING TO BE FOR HALLOWEEN."  
\-------------  
Susan doesn't really find out about her five-minutes of Internet fame until Monday. She's pre-occupied with talking to the police, processing her near-death experience… having sex with Ford. Susan didn't expect the last one, but adrenaline makes you do crazy things? That's Susan's story and she's sticking to it. 

Susan had just gotten back from the coffee shop. It had been a long day. Twitchy had regained consciousness shortly before the police had arrived. He had gone on to the hospital secured to a gurney. And then there had been the discussion with the police. 

"The dispatcher heard mentions of drugs during the call. Do you sell drugs here at F Coffee?"

"No. Of course not." Susan pauses before snorting with laughter, "Though I guess technically..." 

One of the police officers reaches for her radio. "What do you mean technically, ma'am?"

Susan shakes her hands. "Oh, no. I just was referring to caffeine. Coffee has caffeine. This is perfectly legal. I'm sorry."

"Uh-huh. And he mistook what for drugs again?" 

"Baked goods." 

The officer raises an eyebrow. "Really?" Her tone conveys her skepticism.

And then Ford feels the need to contribute from his corner. "Susan's goods are fucking delicious. People have been asking about them all week, but we were...out. So I picked up some scones from this local bakery."

"And where did you get these scones, Mr. Ford?"

Susan holds out her hand beseechingly. "I don't really think that information needs to be included." Susan lowers her voice and addresses the officer. "They were really some horrible scones. It'd be kind of embarrassing." 

The police officer nods. "Uh-huh. And you'd never seen this gunman before?"

"No," Susan says with a sigh.  
\----------------------------------------

So Susan eventually gets back to her apartment and she's exhausted. She's getting into her pajamas, texting Nancy to let her know the situation before she can hear it on the news, and there's a knock on the door. Susan gives the door a disgusted look and decides whether she bothers enough to open it. 

When Susan opens the door, it's Ford with a bottle of champagne and packet of Oberto jerky.

"Hi, Ford, " she says tiredly. "I thought you'd be home sleeping. I know that was my plan." 

Ford thrusts the beef jerky and bottle of champagne towards Susan like a weird peace offering. "This is all they had at the gas station. The flowers didn't look very good."

"Okay. Thank you for not buying me gas station flowers. But I'm not sure why you're giving me champagne and beef jerky in the first place." 

"Bloody hell, Susan. Thank you for saving my life even if you did it with a scone." 

Susan sighs, "Do you want to come inside?"

So they pop open the champagne and pass the bag of beef jerky back and forth. On one pass, their hands brush, and it's like a snap of static. They look each other in the eyes. They kiss, and then later they take it to the bedroom for some life-affirming sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did want to write more in the chapter. But I thought that updating (after the cliffhanger of last chapter) would be better than waiting for a longer update. 
> 
> I AM TRYING TO FINISH THIS BEFORE MY MOVE. Maybe three more chapters max?


	9. Spoiled (For Choices)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's too much of a good thing.

Susan's week is almost like the Universe tries to outdo the attempted robbery/near-death experience. On Monday, Susan has this persistent limp. She doesn't know if it's from leaping over the counter (something that the Internet tells her she, in fact, did) or from the enthusiastic rounds of sex with Ford. When she had finally hopped (literally) out of bed, Ford had smirked like a cat that ate a seven-course canary dinner. Just for that, Susan tells herself that the limp is from leaping over the counter, not from really good sex. Definitely not. Like, who would think that?

So of course she's self-conscious of her limp when she hobbles into Crocker's office with her report. "Here's my report, Deputy Director Crocker. Just like you asked for."

"Jesus Christ, Cooper, what happened to you? You're limping like Quasimodo." 

"Uh, well, I hurt my leg foiling a robbery. I was jumping over a counter." 

"Yeah, I saw that video. It kind of reminded me of my show horse, Pamela. I loved that horse, but I would have shot her in the head if she started limping like you are. Put her out of her fricking misery. Jesus Christ."

Susan frowns, "Oh, that's kind of sad." 

"You're kind of sad like a twisted Igor. Where's Frankenstein's monster, Cooper, that's what I ask myself when I look at you." Crocker clears her throat and shuffles some papers on her desk. "I got off track. I want to apologize for that." 

Susan nods politely. "Only for that?" she thinks to herself. 

"I want to talk about your future here at the Agency."

Susan tries not to panic, but that could go either way. Is she getting fired? 

"We're looking to add new agents. Instead of getting somebody fresh off The Farm, I'd rather promote someone from within. Someone who has the smarts and the physical prowess to be a successful agent." Crocker pauses and looks Susan in the eye. 

Susan gestures to herself. "Oh, and you wanted me to..." 

Crocker nods, "Be one of those agents, yes. I was prepared to offer you the job based on your performance at The Farm, but foiling a robbery with scones? Genius, Cooper. That's the kind of ingenuity I like to see in my agents." 

Crocker tells Susan that she doesn't have to make a decision right away. But Susan keeps thinking about it for the rest of the day. Can she picture herself as an agent? The Karen Walker 2.0? If there's one thing the attempted robbery has forced her to re-evaluate is, is she happy with her life? She's 40 years old. She likes her job, but does she get a lot of respect? Between being called Quasimodo or debating whether today's the day to start wearing a hazmat suit in the basement, Susan doesn't really feel like she gets a lot of respect.

\---------

So Susan is still trying to process everything when she walks into F Coffee, the scene of the crime so to speak, after work. And it looks like a trap. Aldo is grinning expectantly, like he's already seen the movie, and is waiting for Susan’s reaction to his favorite part. Ford greets her with a kiss, so apparently they're doing that, but it's kind of nice, so Susan doesn't mind. Aldo giggles like a Furby or something equally disturbing when Ford kisses her, though.

Susan awkwardly pats Ford's face. "Hi there."

Ford opens his mouth to say something, but then decides to try to kiss her again. But Susan has the reflexes of someone who could be a CIA agent, of someone who can foil attempted robberies with only scones, and she ducks away. "Maybe not with Aldo standing right there, Tiger." 

"Trust me when I say," Aldo says rubbing his chest. "I do not mind this so much."

Susan rolls her eyes. "No, Aldo."

"I'm with Susan on this one. Keep it in your fucking trousers."

Aldo removes his hands from his chest. "Okay. As you say, consent is important. But if you ever do change your mind, please let Aldo know."

"I've got your bloody number on speed dial and everything," Ford says, rolling his eyes. And then Ford starts jerking his head towards the back room as if he doesn't think Susan can see him. She's standing right next to Ford, though. She picked a _real winner_. Good thing Ford’s not a spy. The man is subtle like a foghorn in a silent movie theater. 

Aldo eventually cottons on to Ford's cue and heads into the backroom. He brings out a stuffed bear toy, the size of a donut-loving six-year-old, and some balloons. Susan's kind of distracted by that visual, so the fact that Ford is now kneeling on the ground doesn't register immediately. When it does, Susan is more than a little freaked out. Should she pull him up off the floor? He can't propose if he's not on one knee, right?

Susan flails her hand in Ford's direction. "Oh, that's a tiny box. I mean, it's so small that it's kind of impractical, isn't it? I mean, what even fits in a box that size?"

"Susan Cooper," Ford intones seriously, "will you do us the honor...”

As Ford pauses like he's about to announce an eliminated contestant on a reality TV show, a thousand thoughts run through Susan's head. _Us_? Are Ford and Aldo like brother husbands? Do they want to share her? Is she woman enough to handle both Ford and Aldo?

"Of becoming our partner..." 

Susan is going to swallow her tongue. 

"In F Coffee?" Ford opens the box, revealing a key.

Susan barely resists the temptation to slap herself in the head. "Oh, my god. Get up off the floor, you asshole."

Ford clambers to his feet and quickly glances at Aldo, who just shrugs. "Is that a yes?"

"I don't know. Do you have any paperwork?" 

Aldo gives Ford a Manila envelope. Ford offers it to Susan. Susan accepts it begrudgingly. "I'm going to have to read it. I'll get back to you." 

Susan feels a little bad for storming out (as much as one can with a limp) soon after, but a key in a ring box? A bear that says, "We love you, Susan." If she stayed in the coffee shop any longer, she could not be held responsible for her actions.

But as she sits in her apartment and she looks at the paperwork, she feels a little overwhelmed. She can see herself becoming an agent. She can see herself having more of a role at F Coffee. How is she going to choose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm on track with two more chapters! Woo! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Final Answer?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan makes a decision.

Susan's been contemplating her seemingly impossible choice for a while. She's in her pajamas. She's got more than the recommended serving of pizza in her stomach. She kind of needs to pee, but she's really hesitant to leave her nest of blankets. And then there's an insistent knocking on her door. It's late so she peers through the peephole and nearly has a heart attack. It's not every day you look out and see a bear outside your door. Maybe if you live in Alaska or you're like a Chicago Bears fan, but not really a typical occurrence in the Virginia/Washington D.C. area.

"Bloody hell, Susan. Open up already. This bear weighs a fucking ton.”

Susan opens the door and walks away. 

Ford groans as he lugs the bear to the couch. “Thanks for all the fucking help!"

“I have to pee!” Susan hisses from the bathroom. "Jesus. Just be happy I let you in.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for that. You wouldn’t believe the looks some of these twats were giving me. Like they’d never seen a fucking stuffed bear before.” 

When Susan emerges from the bathroom, Ford’s made himself comfortable on the couch next to the bear. 

“Do you want some pizza?” 

“I wasn’t planning on staying. Just was going to bring you your bear.” 

Susan stares at Ford snuggling into her couch, dismantling her nest of blankets. “Are you sure you don’t want any pizza?”

Ford shrugs. “Sure, I’ll take a slice. Cheers.”

When Susan returns from the kitchen with the sad decimated remnants of the frozen pizza, Ford has a box from Sur La Table. “It seemed like you were having a bad day. I thought one of your weird little pots would cheer you up.”

When Susan sees the honey-colored Le Creuset French Oven she bursts into tears. 

\------------------------------------

Ford pats her knee. “Do you want some water?”

Susan feels like her face has gone all blotchy from her tears and there might be some snot on the couch that wasn’t there before. “Um. Please."

Ford returns from the kitchen with a glass. “So let’s see if I got this right. You got offered a promotion at work today. Aldo and me offered to make you a partner, and you’re a little spoiled for choice.”

Susan sighs, “Something like that. I’ve been at the CIA for so long and I enjoy the work. If I became a partner at F Coffee, I think I’d need to devote more time to the business. Time that I don’t have. I mean, I could work for 20 years perfecting a time-travel device, travel back in time and live every day twice like some weird Groundhog Day baloney, but …”

“I don’t know. If anybody could build a fucking time machine, it’s you.”

Susan starts to laugh but ends up having to scramble for some tissues before snot erupts out of her nose like Vesuvius. 

"But, I get it. Changing careers late in your fucking life, it's bloody terrifying."

"What do you mean?"

Ford takes a bite of his pizza before he starts waving it around. "I fucking did things career-wise before F Coffee, didn't it?"

"You did?" Susan's voice is embarrassingly high-pitched right now. Great. Way to insult your potential business partner/boy toy, Susan.

"Jesus. How the fuck are you so surprised? What do you think I did in the 20 years before F Coffee? Was I off fucking milking cats?" 

"Why would I think you were a cat milker? Nobody milks cats.” Susan pauses and contemplates the questionable statement further. “I mean that's not a thing, Ford.”

“I’ve seen it in the movies before. There’s got to be some fucking cat cheese out there somewhere.”

Susan tries not to barf. “Anyway, you've never mentioned your past jobs before."

Ford shakes his head and crams a pizza crust into his mouth. "Who the fuck brags about working at the State Department?"

Susan nearly falls off the couch. "Oh, my god. Somebody let you talk to other people, diplomatically?" 

"I was better at it than you would fucking think. Got lots of practice talking to a variety of twats. They called me the _Twat Wrangler_."

"It sounds like you were the only one to call yourself that."

"They called me the _Twat Whisperer_." 

"You wish," Susan says with a groan. "Oh, great. Now, I've got that visual in my head." 

Ford sucks on his teeth. "I could make it a reality."

When Ford tries to make it a reality, Susan nearly kicks him in the face. "Jesus Christ, that tickles."

Later in the night when Ford is decidedly not drooling on her pillow, Susan thinks back on what she read in the partnership paperwork and discussed with Ford before they got distracted by other things. She could travel the world sourcing coffee beans, attend the various coffee conferences, and have the opportunity to be respected. Yeah, it's not going to have that same cool factor as being a spy, but she's made her decision, right?

\---------

She begins to doubt herself when she sees Nancy at work the next morning. 

"Susan!" Nancy scoots her chair towards her desk. "Have you been crying?" she whispers loudly. 

Susan pulls out her cell phone and starts typing. She tucks her phone away. 

"Hold that thought, Susan. I have just received a text message." Nancy starts inching her way back to her desk. "Isn't that exciting? How often do I receive a text message at 8:00am! It's not the typical booty call witching hour if you will." 

Susan starts attending to her e-mails as Nancy rolls to her desk, reads her message, gasps, and then travels back to Susan's desk. "Oh, Susan. I wish you wouldn't." Nancy starts petting Susan's hair, "How will I get through my day without seeing this sweet angel face?" 

Susan detangles Nancy from her hair. "I'm going to work at F Coffee, I'm not dying."

"You might die! There could be a coffee grinder catastrophe." 

"It wouldn't be any more dangerous than being in the field, Nance." 

Nancy huffs. "Like that's even an option." When Susan doesn't respond, Nancy nearly jumps out of her chair. "Was that an option? Honestly, Susan, I'm feeling so left out right now." 

"I just found out yesterday."

"So the rumors that Sharon told me are true. They're hiring new agents? Have you told Fine yet?" 

Susan shakes her head, "No, not yet. I need to tell Crocker first."

\------------------------

Crocker takes the news suspiciously well. She listens to Susan's resignation and then tells her she can leave her office. It’s actually kind of anticlimactic. 

When Susan tells Fine, she was expecting more from a partnership of nearly 10 years. 

"So next Friday is going to be my last day, Fine."

If Susan was expecting a sudden confession of love, she doesn't get it. 

Fine blinks, "Oh. That really is a shame Cooper. I thought we had such a good working relationship." He laughs suavely. " I had you trained just right."

When Susan stalks off, Fine yells after her. "That was a joke, Cooper. Jeez, can't you take a joke?" 

"You're a joke," Susan says under her breath.

\------------

Susan is convinced she's made the right choice when she hands over the signed paperwork at F Coffee after work. Ford and Aldo can be a mess, but at least they respect her. But when Susan returns to her apartment, she's not as sure she's made the right decision. 

She turns on the light and Crocker is sitting at her kitchen table. Susan screeches and throws her purse at the intruder. Her purse hits the wall and Crocker raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Did you really think we'd let an agent like you go without a fight, Cooper?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left. :D 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Making It Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Susan might get whacked or maybe she can get things to work out.

"Sit down, Susan." 

Susan inches towards her kitchen table. "Am I getting whacked now?" Susan tries to remember if she's wearing nice underwear. If she's going to end up on an autopsy table, she hopes she's wearing her nice underwear. And then she remembers if the CIA kills her she's probably not going to make it to the autopsy table. What is Ford going to think? Will he try to avenge her death? Will he be determined to find answers like a weird bald Fox Mulder? Susan can't bear to think about Aldo and Ford being left on their own business-wise.

Crocker throws her head back and laughs loudly. "Oh, God, no. I stopped getting my hands dirty years ago." 

"Ha! You got me good, I thought you were going to murder me and dump my corpse in a river." 

"Just sit down, Cooper. Jesus Christ, my pits are just sweating looking at you. You're making me sympathy sweat - stop it."

Susan gingerly takes a seat. Crocker extracts a piece of paper from a folder and slides it across the table. "Tell me what you see." 

Susan peers at the paper. "Well, I see a list of countries in which the CIA takes a particular interest." 

Crocker crosses her fingers together. "Exactly. Can you hazard a guess at what these other countries have in common?" Crocker doesn't wait for a response. "No? Well, I'll tell you these countries are -"

Susan scans the list again. "They're some of the world's biggest coffee producers."

"You know it's kind of annoying to interrupt someone mid-sentence, but you are indeed correct. We know that a Mr. Rick Ford frequents some of the countries on a semi-regular basis. We would like you, Miss Cooper, to represent the interests of the CIA and the United States Government as an agent while visiting these countries in the course of your new career."

\-----------

It takes some getting used to. Susan has a new haircut, a very cute bob in auburn, new jobs, a new man - the thing with Ford is still working out six months later. There have just been a slew of changes. Susan might have been overwhelmed with them all but she has a good support system in place. 

Susan brushes her bangs out of her face - she's still getting used to the bangs - and then returns to inspecting the scene 800 feet away through the sights of her rifle. 

"Target sighted."

_Okay, Susan. Take a deep breath. Try not to look directly at the blood splatter and the...goo._

"Oh, Jesus Christ. You're going to make me yak, Nance." 

_Would sucking on a ginger sweet help? I included some in your kit_

"Aww, that's really nice, Nancy. Thank you." 

_Oh, gods, Susan, I'm picking up chatter. They're onto your position. Get out of there before you're dead and the crows just start peck, peck, pecking at your corpse._

Susan takes the shot and then starts breaking down the rifle. When an assailant breaches the crest of the building, one of the pieces of the rifle makes a great makeshift truncheon. It only takes a few hit before her opponent is disarmed.

She stuffs the rest of her supplies in a tote bag and quickly makes her way off the rooftop. Her bicycle stashed a block away is her next destination. She calmly walks in that direction. When a group of men approach her with suspicion, Susan turns on the lost tourist charm. "Is this the way to the open market?" She gestures widely with her hands. "Open market. Uh. Ouvre, uh, marché?" Most of the men roll their eyes and stalk off looking for the perpetrator, but one of them stops to give her directions. And that was really nice of him even if she didn't need them. Thanks, guy with morally questionable occupation.

Susan makes her way to a small hotel. When she arrives, Ford's waiting in the lobby talking animatedly in French with an official-looking person. "Oh, here she is now. Darling, how was the market?"

Susan ducks her head. "I got a little lost." She pulls some fruit out of her bag. "But look at these bananas."

Ford nods, "Yep. So as I was telling the man, we've already visited the coffee farms, procured our beans so to speak, and we're leaving today."

Susan hooks arms with Ford. "We should be leaving any minute in fact," she says. "Well, I better finish packing." She presses a peck to his cheek. 

As soon as Susan turns the corner, she starts talking to Nancy again. "How are we doing?" 

_Everything's in order. Taxi is going to be arriving in five. Airplane is gassed and ready to go when you are, Spy Lady._

They get out of the country safe and sound. The same can't be said of F Coffee in their absence. 

Susan shakes her head in disbelief. Her brain is still a little number from her debrief. "You did what with the what now?" 

"I maybe had a teeny, a very teeny, tiny fire. I mean, this fire was very tiny like Fine's, how you say, penis."

Ford points his finger in Aldo's face. "I told you not to fucking roast any fucking beans while I was fucking gone."

A triple fucking, not a good sign from Ford. He's pissed.

"I am partner. I should know how to makes the coffee. Why will you not let me makes the coffee?" 

Susan had been thinking this issue was going to come to a head eventually. Susan doesn’t always enjoy being right. Most of the time, but not always. 

"Because you fucking set things on fucking fire when we're fucking gone. I can't even trust you with a fucking toaster, let alone the fucking roaster." 

"And I say that this is how we eat our toast in Italy. Not like pasty, weak English toast. We like our toast with machismo."

"The word you're looking for is burnt. Like fucking charcoal, mate." 

Susan waves her arms around to get their attention. "Ford, sweetie, please just assess the damage to the roaster. Aldo, Ford will teach you how to roast, but you really need to stop setting things on fire." 

Aldo shrugs. "It is not my fault that I am so passionate. The fire is in my blood, but I will try to stop the fires." 

As she goes to the back to investigate the damage to the roaster, Susan doesn't know how this is her life, but she wouldn't change it for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading. I hope the ending is satisfactory :D


End file.
